


Good Enough

by RaeDMagdon, Revans_Mask



Category: Mass Effect
Genre: Angst, Blow Jobs, Come Shot, Cunnilingus, D/s, Dubious Consent, F/F, Fingerfucking, Hate Sex, Magic Cock, Rough Sex, Shameless Smut, Strap-Ons, Vaginal Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-01
Updated: 2018-03-05
Packaged: 2019-03-25 18:21:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 9,624
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13840395
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RaeDMagdon/pseuds/RaeDMagdon, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Revans_Mask/pseuds/Revans_Mask
Summary: Miranda knows she should be happy for Shepard and Liara, but jealousy still gnaws at her.  When someone who looks very much like her beloved commander surprises her at a low moment, those feelings end up making things very complicated.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This story is based on a request from Rae's Patreon that we both liked. It's a little darker than our usual collaborations, and will get super filthy as we go on. That said, we had a lot of fun with it and we hope you do too.

“This is really delicious,” Miranda declared, taking another hearty bite of her food. Though she’d never encountered either the thick, red plant or the spicy sauce it was covered in before, she was already a huge fan. The smell was mouth-watering, and the flavor tingled on her tongue even after she swallowed, leaving behind a pleasant aftertaste.

Liara sipped some kind of yellow juice, smiling pleasantly over the rim of her glass. “It was a favorite of mine as a child. I’m glad that you like it too.”

“Of course, neither of us can take the the credit,” Shepard added after a large and noticeable swallow. “It’s from that new Thessian restaurant that just opened a couple of levels down. Liara took me there a week ago, and it was so good, we thought we’d share the secret.”

“Well, it’s excellent,” Miranda said. “All of it. And it’s wonderful seeing the Citadel coming back to life like this.”

Shepard laughed. “Just like me. Twice now.”

“I don’t know how you can be so nonchalant about that,” Liara sighed, reaching over to run her hand along Shepard’s sleeve. Shepard turned, smiling at her bondmate and whispering something reassuring while Miranda stifled a wince. 

She didn’t want to feel this way. No one had earned their happiness more than Shepard, and Liara made her happy.  _ It’s just that you thought it might be you in her place. _

It had been a stupid thought, even years ago when she’d first had it. Shepard was supposed to be an assignment, not a potential girlfriend… at least until Miranda had met her—-the real her, not the body she had been restoring for the past two years. Awake and alert, Shepard was both beautiful and powerful, charming and kind; and like so many people before her, Miranda had found the commander irresistible.

For a brief moment, it had seemed that Shepard might return some of those feelings, especially after her first, unhappy reunion with Liara. But then had come the mission to defeat the Shadow Broker. Shepard and Liara had fallen back into each other’s arms, and Miranda had made her peace with that. Except that on occasions like tonight, watching Shepard taking Liara’s hand in hers and give it a squeeze, it was hard for Miranda not to regret what might have been.

“Your injuries weren’t  _ that _ bad the second time,” she said, trying to cover her discomfort. “Fixing you after the war was much easier.”

“That is not the way I remember it,” Liara said, “but in any event, we will always grateful for your help, as well as for your current company.”

“And I appreciate the chance to catch up,” Miranda replied. “It’s hard to believe it’s already been more than a year since the war ended. It feels like just yesterday, the whole crew was here in this apartment, having one last fling before facing the end.”

Shepard shook her head. “Funny. To me, it feels like a lifetime ago. So much has changed since then. Which brings me to the other reason we asked you here tonight.” 

Liara put a hand on her stomach, and Miranda immediately knew what the asari was going to say. Even so, it sent a sharp stab through her chest. “How far along are you?” she asked, trying her best to smile through the pain.

“About three months,” Liara told her, positively glowing. Though Miranda could tell she was trying to restrain herself, excitement radiated from her in waves. “Of course, asari pregnancies last about fifteen, so it is still fairly early. But we thought that as the woman who made this possible, you should be the first to hear the good news.”

“I suppose I should have known when there was no wine with dinner,” Miranda said. “And that’s wonderful. I’m very happy for both of you.”

And she was. But at the same time, her heart ached—and Miranda doubted even she would be able to repair something so utterly broken.

* * *

She’d managed to make it through the rest of dinner. Liara and Shepard’s joy was infectious, and Miranda had done her best to share in it. She was an adult capable of feeling more than a single emotion at once, and so she leaned on her happiness, forcing it out for her friends to see. But the hours passed, dinner was consumed, dessert was thoroughly enjoyed (less so by Miranda, though she didn’t show it), and soon enough Miranda found herself returning to her skycar amidst embraces and invitations to come back soon.

Only then, once she had slid behind the wheel and pulled out onto the strip that ran alongside the Silver Sun Casino did she begin to cry. The her of several years ago wouldn’t have approved. Such uncontrolled displays of emotion were unprofessional and unhelpful. Plus, as she could see from the view screens, they tended to ruin one’s makeup. But she couldn’t help it.

Pregnant. Liara was pregnant. Seeing Shepard living with her in domestic bliss was painful enough, but this… 

_ Yet one more thing she can give Shepard that I can’t. _

Miranda sniffed, swiping angrily at the tears that leaked from her eyes. It wasn’t as if she had any claim to Shepard, despite having handled every inch of her body. She had literally held Shepard’s heart in her hands, but Liara had her soul—Shepard had offered it long before she and Miranda had even met. If anything, she was the interloper… or would have been, if Shepard had returned her feelings.

She swallowed against the tight lump in her throat and concentrated on driving. Being heartbroken wasn’t the same as being suicidal—but just in case, she switched on the autopilot. To do otherwise would be asking fate to make her day worse.

The drive home was too long, or maybe not long enough. By the time she arrived at her apartment, she was both exhausted and restless. She sat in the skycar while the engine idled, trying to decide what to do next. Sleep was advisable, but out of the question. Her mind was awhirl with thoughts, none of them pleasant, and she had never been particularly good at silencing the voices within. A bath might be better. At least then she would be warm.

Miranda exited the car, grabbing her purse as she climbed through the driver’s side door. She entered her apartment, then paused. Nothing seemed out of place. The lights had activated just as she stepped inside, and nothing appeared to have been disturbed. There was the table beside the door, where she normally set her things. There were her potted plants peeking out from the partially open wall that separated the foyer from the kitchen. There was the same decorative art that always hung on the wall—tasteful and utterly meaningless.

_ So, why do I feel so strange? _

Miranda blinked rapidly, clearing her eyes once more. She set her purse down, silently withdrawing her pistol from inside. The after-effects of living on the run hadn’t deserted her—not even close. Plus, there were plenty of loose Cerberus cells still left to clean up, and none of them much liked her. She aimed the nose of the pistol into the empty apartment and pressed her back against the wall, proceeding cautiously.

Suddenly, the weapon flew out of her hand, sheathed in a globe of brilliant blue light. Miranda smelled the electric scent of biotic discharge immediately. She pulled against it with her hand, and her pistol jerked in the air, teetering back in her direction. The force on the other side yanked harder, and Miranda gasped as her gun went flying away from her—and into the hand of a shadowy figure in the living room doorway.

“You don’t need that, princess,” a chillingly familiar voice said. “At least, not if you play nice.”

Miranda’s jaw dropped as she realized the impossibility of who the voice belonged to. She had left Shepard’s apartment less than an hour ago, and yet there the commander was in Miranda’s living room, pointing a pistol of her own.

“Take a seat,” Shepard told her, using one of the guns to gesture toward a leather chair.

Without much of a choice, Miranda did as she’d been told. As she sat, her mind raced. Not only could Shepard not be there, this didn’t entirely sound like her. The basic vocal characteristics were the same, but the tones were all wrong. In this woman’s voice was was none of the commander’s kindness, or her calm confidence. Instead, there was something harder and more aggressive, almost like the woman was Shepard’s evil twin.

_ No. Not her twin. Of course. _

“You’re a clone,” Miranda said calmly to the woman, who settled down on the sofa across from her.

“The only one left,” the clone said, tucking away Miranda’s pistol while keeping her own levelled. “Your friends at Cerberus destroyed all the rest.”

Now that Miranda had a better look, the resemblance between the two Shepards was remarkable. The same athletic frame, the same red hair, the same freckled face… only the scars were different. The clone lacked the mark that a Brute had left over Shepard’s right eye, and the red line that peeked up from beneath her collar, but she had exchanged them for a nasty scar along her jaw.

But in spite of the resemblance, Miranda knew better than to act like this was Shepard. Based on the stories she’d heard, this clone was both different and quite dangerous, so Miranda carefully weighed her response. “I heard about that, but it wasn’t my project.”

The clone narrowed her eyes, glaring accusingly at Miranda. “Don’t give me that shit, princess. Brooks told me you were part of the project that created me. You might not have been working in the lab, but you were still involved.”

Miranda forced herself to control an uneasy twitch. The clone was right; she had been involved. Not with the clones directly, but their production had been a part of the larger Lazarus Project, which she had overseen. “In some sense, I suppose. Does that matter? Why don’t you tell me what it is that you want?”

“I want to know why,” the clone told her. There was something rough in her voice, a harshness that matched her appearance. Her dark pants and dented breastplate looked like they’d seen better days, and the lines on her face spoke to hard living.

“Why what?” Miranda asked carefully. One misstep, and there was a real risk that she’d end up shot.

“Why I’m here. Brooks told me I was made to be used as spare parts in case  _ she _ needed them. Back then, I accepted that story, but I’ve had a lot of time to think since then, and it doesn’t make sense. Cerberus could’ve just vat-grown organs and tissue separately if that’s all they wanted. There was no need to worry about a loose end like me running around.”

“You’re right,” Miranda told her. The truth seemed as if it was safe enough right now; no need to risk getting caught in a lie. “Yes, there was some thought that we might need additional biological material for the Lazarus Project, but it was more than that. We didn’t know if the project would work at all. If it failed, you and the others were a back-up. Other Shepards that we could use to rally the galaxy when the Reapers came.”

“Then why don’t I work?!” the clone demanded, and all of the bitterness that had been lurking beneath the surface of her words seemed to erupt out of her in a torrent. “Why did she become the savior of the galaxy while I became nothing?”

Miranda’s mouth opened, but she had no answers — at least, not answers the clone would want to hear. The frustration and grief on her… on Shepard’s face tugged at something deep within Miranda, and she had to keep reminding herself that this wasn’t Shepard. This wasn’t her legendary commanding officer, her treasured friend, the woman who had reminded her what it was like to love someone even if that love wasn’t returned in precisely the same way. This was someone who currently had a gun pointed at her, and who just happened to look like Shepard.

“Because you aren’t her,” Miranda said at last, her mouth dry with fear. She hadn’t always believed that was so. She had watched her sister Oriana grow up from afar, after all, and the similarities between them had been startling. They had resembled each other more than just physically, and Miranda had always assumed genetics were responsible.

She thought differently now. One’s experiences played an important role in defining who they were, perhaps even more than the building blocks that made them up. The differences between Shepard and her clone proved that. One had gone on to save the galaxy. The other had tried, and failed, to destroy her.

“Not good enough.” The Shepard clone’s biotics flared with anger, and her finger twitched on the pistol’s trigger. “I came here for answers, and you’re going to give them to me.”

A tense pause followed as Miranda considered what to say. She took a deep breath, stalling for time. Briefly, she considered using her biotics to try and regain control of her weapon, but it was still pointed straight at her. Her best chance of escaping this situation alive was probably talking—and she suspected “Shepard” wouldn’t tolerate lies.

“Do you really want to know the difference between you and Shepard?”

The clone’s upper lip peeled back, giving her a wolfish look. “I broke into your apartment, took you hostage, and I’m pointing a gun at you. I think it’s pretty obvious I want to know.”

“Shepard had friends.” She paused, trying to gauge the clone’s reaction to her statement. It wasn’t good. The not-Shepard’s green eyes flashed with anger, and her jaw clenched. Nevertheless, Miranda continued. “She earned her victory, but she didn’t do it alone. She inspired loyalty in practically everyone she met.”

“Loyalty?” the clone scoffed, shaking her head in disbelief.

“She defeated the Reapers by bringing people together. Humans, aliens, entire civilizations… the members of her crew.” Miranda pursed her lips. “You recall how little help Brooks and your mercenaries were when you most needed their assistance.”

“I didn’t need them,” the clone growled. “I don’t need anyone—”

Miranda couldn’t help it. She laughed; not a laugh of joy, but one of bitter knowledge earned through painful experience.

“Shut up!” The clone raised a clenched fist, and before Miranda could block her attack, a biotic pulse hurled her from her chair. She crashed into the wall hard, grunting as a stasis field left her trapped there. The clone stalked toward her, still brandishing her pistol, but this time, Miranda wasn’t intimidated. After everything she’d been through tonight—after everything she’d been through since joining up with Shepard and fighting the Reapers—this moment felt strangely… unthreatening.

“The truth hurts, doesn’t it?” Miranda demanded, no longer afraid. “For all your arrogance, you’re not even a shadow of the real Shepard. No one gives a damn about you, but people would die for her. People love her.”

A cruel smile appeared on the clone’s face. She closed the rest of the distance between them in a flash, leaning in until they were practically touching.  _ “People _ love her? I don’t think that’s what you meant. I think you love her.”

“Of course I do. She’s my friend,” Miranda protested, but her lie wasn’t as convincing as usual. She suddenly felt exposed, vulnerable in a way that being pinned to a wall with a biotic field hadn’t made her.

It only got worse as the clone kept pressing. “You want it to be more than that,” she said, the words a statement, not a question. “But it’s not. She’s snuggled up with that asari bitch, while you’re going home to an empty apartment.”

Miranda swallowed hard. The clone’s words were cutting, but they weren’t the only thing throwing her off. This close, Miranda was aware of the other woman in a way she hadn’t been before—of the heat of her body, and even more powerfully, of the smell of her skin. It wasn’t just that the clone looked the same as the real Shepard; she had the same earthy, rich scent too.

“And what about you? What do you want?” Miranda demanded, trying to divert attention away from her own feelings. She’d dreamt for too long about being in a position like this and the fact that this wasn’t the right Shepard didn’t keep her body from reacting.

“I told you. I want answers.”

“No, that’s not it.” Miranda could sense a sudden weakness in her captor, and now that her own had been exposed, there was nothing to do but even the score. “That’s not what you’ve been missing. You want to be wanted.”

The clone glared at her with fresh intensity, and the predatory gleam in those green eyes made Miranda’s pulse quicken. It was a look she’d seen on the real Shepard; not often, but every now and then, when she was closing in for a kill… Miranda felt a heavy throb between her legs, even as the clone growled, “And what if I do? Do you want me?”

She should have said no. It was the sensible thing to do, and Miranda was usually nothing if not sensible, but in the depths of her despair, sensible didn’t feel like enough.

“Yes,” she hissed, and before she could regret that decision, the clone kissed her. There was nothing gentle or loving about the contact. Her lips were rough against Miranda’s, and even as she tried to adjust to what was happening, teeth were pulling at her lower lip. The biotic field around her disappeared as well, but Miranda didn’t fall. Before she could, the clone’s strong hands were on her hips, pushing her back up against the wall.

In spite of herself, Miranda moaned. Even before she’d gotten to know Shepard’s kindness, her strength had attracted Miranda. She’d wasted too much time fantasizing about the commander throwing her up against a bulkhead and taking her hard, and if this was as close as she was going to get, she might as well enjoy it.


	2. Chapter 2

The first taste of Miranda’s mouth against hers drove Cat wild. Initiating the kiss had been instinct rather than a deliberate decision, but she had no regrets. She shuddered as Miranda’s tongue stroked against hers, tightening her grip on the ex-Cerberus operative’s hips. This wasn’t going according to plan at all, and yet she couldn’t bring herself to care. Miranda was writhing, trapped between Cat and the wall, but it wasn’t an attempt at escape. It was a nonverbal request—no, a  _ demand _ for more.

It certainly wasn’t Cat’s first kiss. After being awakened and completing her training downloads, she had worked her way through several of the CAT6 mercenaries she had cribbed her name from, in addition to Brooks before her handler’s inevitable betrayal.  _ And it was inevitable.  _ She’d never trusted Brooks or anyone else, so she wasn’t sure why the abandonment had stung so much. Why it still did.

Not that any of it mattered now. Brooks was gone. So was everyone else, even the Reapers. Cat was a copy of a hero in a galaxy that no longer needed the original, let alone her. The galaxy had probably never needed her, and she hadn’t wanted anything to do with saving it anyway. But now? Now, things were different. Miranda Lawson, the woman partially responsible for her creation, was whimpering into her mouth, squirming against her, clawing at her back through her armor.

Someone did need her after all.

“So, you’re settling?” Cat snarled, panting into Miranda’s plush lips. They trembled against hers, and she couldn’t resist flicking her tongue over them.

Miranda stared at her with piercing eyes, leveling Cat with a gaze that cut to her very core. “Isn’t that the same thing you’re doing?”

Cat chose not to answer. Talking to Miranda wasn’t nearly as enjoyably mind-numbing as kissing her—and she was sure that whatever followed would be even better. Cat dove in again, plundering Miranda’s mouth and cutting off any further conversation. She kissed Miranda as though trying to erase her, to erase everything, to strip both of them down into nothing but bodies that craved each other.

That craving continued to grow. Cat fumbled for the zipper to Miranda’s catsuit with frantic fingers, while Miranda struggled to unfasten the latches of her breastplate. It had once seemed a sensible precaution, but now, it was merely in the way. Cat helped her with a few of the fastenings, but Miranda quickly grew distracted. She sealed her lips onto Cat’s neck, sucking hard, and Cat went rigid at the sharp burst of pain. That was going to leave a mark.

Her impatience got the better of her. With a snarl of frustration, she ripped through Miranda’s catsuit with her bare hands, letting her biotics do most of the work for her. The top tore open, revealing a black bra that was more decorative than functional. Miranda’s breasts, which had already been amply displayed by her skin-tight clothes, were even better exposed now. Cat groped them in both hands, at the same time angling herself so that her thigh rode up between Miranda’s lean legs. She was rewarded with a sweet moan, as well as Miranda’s nipples poking through the lace into her palms.

The proof of Miranda’s arousal stoked the growing fire within Cat’s belly. No one could take away the evidence that Miranda wanted her and there was more of it to be found. She removed one of her hands from Miranda’s breast, but only to widen the rip in in catsuit. If Cat didn’t miss her guess, she’d find a matching pair of panties further down, and she was certain they were already soaked.

Before she could find out for sure, Miranda finished undoing the seals on her breastplate. Even as it clattered to the ground, Miranda was busy ripping off Cat’s undershirt and tossing it aside. Deceptively strong hands ran over her abdominal muscles, but although the the touch felt pleasant enough, Cat hissed her disapproval. She wasn’t going to surrender control. 

With a growl, she pushed Miranda back against the wall. Her teeth dragged along the operative’s throat, while one of her hands plunged beneath what was left of her catsuit. The silky fabric she found there certainly felt the same as the bra, and there was indeed a damp spot on it.

“Oh God,” Miranda moaned, lurching forward to grind against Cat’s fingers. When Cat pushed aside the underwear, wetness dripped onto her fingers, and she grinned.

“Fuck, you want it bad. Why did you wear these, anyway? Did you want to pretend you were having a date with your precious Shepard?”

“Screw you,” Miranda spat. “Are you going to fuck me, or just talk?”

“If you insist, princess.” Cat didn’t do as she’d promised, though. Instead, she brought her fingers up to her lips, licking them clean of the tart liquid with exaggerated relish.

Perhaps hoping to get Cat to move faster, Miranda pushed her ruined catsuit the rest of the way off, taking those black panties along with it. She was fully naked, and Cat drank in the sight. Miranda might have been irritating, but Cat couldn’t deny that her body was incredible, trim and fit, yet nicely rounded in all the right places.

_ And it’s all mine. At least for tonight _ .

At that thought, Cat pounced, capturing Miranda’s lips for another bruising kiss. Miranda leaned into it, and with one hand, Cat grabbed hold of the operative’s ample rear to pull her closer still. With the other, she roughly squeezed a full breast, feeling the nipple hard against her palm.

Miranda writhed against her, and for a moment, Cat considered denying her even longer. Her desperation was delightful, but the thought of making her fall apart was too good to wait for.  Cat’s hand slid around Miranda’s hip, letting her explore more thoroughly. Miranda was dripping wet, and Cat didn’t hesitate before pushing inside. Two fingers slid in easily, gripped by silky walls.

The cry Miranda let out made Cat throb. She was eager to shove that perfect face between her legs and have Miranda go to work, but that could wait a little longer. The pace she set was punishing, but Miranda seemed to want it that way. She bucked and whimpered with every hard thrust, her nails digging into Cat’s back as she held on for dear life.

With the hand she wasn’t using to fuck Miranda, Cat roamed. Miranda’s skin was flushed with her need, and every new place Cat touched only seemed to make her hotter. But not quite hot enough. Miranda might have been crying out with pleasure, but she was still squirming desperately. There was more that she craved, and that meant Cat retained plenty of leverage. 

“What do you need now, princess?” she growled, punctuating her words with a particularly deep thrust.

“My clit,” Miranda panted. She tried to grind it against Cat’s hand, but Cat slid part of the way out, denying her the satisfaction.

“And just what are you going to do for me?” Cat held her hand steady as she asked the question, letting the loss of stimulation increase Miranda’s need.

A look of frustration contorted Miranda’s beautiful face. She took in a hissing breath through her teeth, raking her nails down Cat’s back. Her eyes were twin pools of longing, of ice that was rapidly thawing. Looking into them made Cat uneasy, although she couldn’t name the reason why.

“Make you come,” Miranda muttered.

Cat kept her hand still, feeling the way Miranda throbbed in her palm. The desperation was still there, an electric current that ran between their bodies, but there was something else in Miranda’s voice. A promise? Determination, perhaps. Despite her vulnerable position — hands clutching, legs wrapped around Cat’s waist — Miranda seemed set on her goal. Her eyes weren’t just ice. They were fire, and they burned with an angry lust that sucked the air from Cat’s lungs.

No one had ever looked at her like that before.

_ But is she even looking at me? Or is she seeing  _ her _? _

With a growl, Cat increased her thrusts, driving in and out of Miranda’s tight heat at a brutal pace. She would make sure Miranda acknowledged her. The real her, not the goodie-two-shoes who had supposedly saved the galaxy through the ‘power of friendship’ or some such bullshit. She would make sure Miranda felt sore for days afterwards. Every time she moved or sat down, she would ache and remember…

_ And I want to be remembered. _

A sharp scream beside her ear let her know that Miranda was about to come. Cat had been on autopilot, fucking her rage into her willing captive, but at the high, keening noise, she paid closer attention. She leaned down, hovering an inch away from Miranda’s face and letting her breath wash over Miranda’s lips. “Come,” she ordered, although the ripples around her fingers told her that Miranda had already started. “Come for me.”

_ For me. Not for her. _

Miranda stiffened. Her head lolled against the wall, and her eyes rolled back in her head. Her shout became noiseless, but her lips remained open, trembling as if waiting to be taken and kissed. Cat didn’t. She ground the heel of her hand into Miranda’s throbbing clit instead, rubbing hard. Her reward was a gush of wetness. Miranda’s release pulsed out around her fingers, running down her wrist.

“Shepard…”

The whispered word made Cat’s heart lurch. Miranda’s eyes had opened again, hazy beneath her fluttering lashes. Cat couldn’t tell what she was seeing, or what she was thinking. Was she pretending? Forcing herself to imagine that this was the original, inferior Shepard?  _ And is she really that inferior, if she’s gotten two women to love her, and I have no one? _

A jealous snarl built in Cat’s chest. Before Miranda had even finished coming, she withdrew, dropping the operative onto her own shaking legs before shoving her down further onto her knees. “My turn,” Cat ordered, fisting Miranda’s hair with the same wet fingers that had been inside her mere moments before. It didn’t matter. They were both already a mess anyway.

Part of her expected Miranda to resist in some way — to pull back, maybe, or turn her head away. She didn’t. Instead, Miranda unfastened Cat’s armor, then made quick work of her pants and underwear, tugging them down so fast that Cat almost stumbled backwards. Before she could even feel the cold air between her legs, Miranda’s mouth was on her, kissing her skin with such enthusiasm that a jolt raced through Cat’s entire body.

Miranda was just as impatient as Cat had been, only pausing for a few nips at her inner thighs before reaching her core. That was fine; slow wasn’t what she was interested in either, and rushed didn’t mean unskilled. Cat groaned at the way Miranda’s tongue delved inside her, lapping up her wetness as if it was the most delicious treat she’d ever tried.

Nor were Miranda’s hands idle. They ran along Cat’s backside, caressing and squeezing as they pulled her in closer. But though Miranda’s tongue was good, it wasn’t what Cat needed. With a growl, she bucked upward, breaking Miranda’s rhythm and smearing her face with her arousal. “Suck me. Now.”

Miranda didn’t hesitate. Her tongue slid down to find the hard ridge of Cat’s clit, working it with a dexterity that made Cat’s knees weak. She tightened her grip on Miranda’s hair, needing something to brace herself with as she rocked back and forth.

Keeping her balance only became more difficult when Miranda drew Cat into her mouth, sucking even while her tongue teased the head. It wasn’t just pleasure making Cat’s legs weak and wobbly, either. The erotic power of watching Miranda on her knees, beyond eager to get Cat off, was making her rise faster than any of her previous lovers had managed.

“That’s it,” she hissed, grinding hard against Miranda. “There’s a good girl.” She relaxed her hold on Miranda’s hair, using her hand stroke the silky strands with something resembling affection. It was hard to maintain her rage when Miranda was making her feel so delightful, and was being so obedient about doing it.

Soon though, Cat realized that Miranda’s attention wasn’t purely selfless. Distracted as she was by the operative’s tongue, she still couldn’t miss Miranda slipping a hand between her own legs. Miranda moaned as began stroking herself, and sound sent electric vibrations through Cat’s clit.

“Fuck, getting me off really makes you hot, doesn’t it?” Cat was trying to find her previous edge, but heavy gasps punctuated her words. Miranda’s self-gratification hadn’t made her any less skillful, and the sight only made the scene more delicious. Cat wasn’t sure how long she could last, and she didn’t really want to delay her pleasure. Miranda was hers now, and Cat was going to take what she needed.

Perhaps by way of reply, Miranda tightened the seal around Cat’s clit, sucking harder than before. It was too much. Cat’s spine stiffened as an overwhelming wave of pleasure hit her, and the cry she let out was far louder than the sounds she usually made.

Miranda was merciless. While Cat quaked with the force of her climax, the operative kept licking and sucking. The intensity was so much that Cat tried to stagger backwards, but Miranda’s hands held her in place, pleasuring her until she couldn’t take any more. “Enough,” she finally panted, “Fuck, that’s enough.”

At last, Miranda backed off, looking up at Cat with a gleam in her eyes. In spite of the mess that had been made of her face, her hair all askew, her chin smeared with Cat’s fluids, her lips were twisted into a self-satisfied smirk. “I take it we’re even now.”

“We might be,” Cat snarled, her fire rekindled in an instant. “But I’m far from done with you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We're glad that so many of you have responded to this rare pair. Things will get even spicier in the third, extra-long chapter, coming soon.


	3. Chapter 3

When Miranda had begun using her mouth on Shepard’s clone, shame had churned in her belly.  _ What am I doing? _ she’d asked herself a hundred times, though her lips and tongue didn’t hesitate for even a fraction of a second.  _ Why do I want to please her so badly? She isn’t even the real Shepard. _ But the clone looked like Shepard, and sounded like Shepard, and probably smelled and tasted like her too, and part of Miranda simply couldn’t pass up the chance to experience even a dark, twisted version of the woman she had craved for so long.

The frantic questions and warnings —  _ Are you a complete idiot? This is a mistake. You’re in danger! You have no idea what she might do —  _ dissolved the moment the clone came, and when the hand in her hair tightened, dragging her back to her feet, Miranda’s only regret was that she still hadn’t found another release of her own. Her body was alive with energy, and her underwear was soaked through, ruined like the rest of her torn and sticky outfit.

“Where’s your bedroom?” Clone Shepard growled, her hot breath grazing Miranda’s cheek.

Miranda didn’t answer with words, merely nodding her head left in the direction of the hallway. Clone Shepard’s rough hands grabbed both cheeks of her ass, hitching her up with the barest grunt of effort and carrying her from the living room. The journey only took thirty seconds, enough time for Miranda to become addicted to the taste of salt at the crook of Clone Shepard’s neck. Each subtle jostle pushed the wet, swollen flesh between her legs against the clone’s hard stomach, and Miranda whimpered, worried she might come from that alone.

They arrived at the bedroom before she lost what little remained of her self-control. Clone Shepard threw her onto the bed, then prowled over her, all fury and hard muscle. Miranda cried out in surprise as the clone entered her with two fingers, sliding right through her wetness and hitting her as deep as possible. Her thrusts were fast and rough, and she used her hips to add extra leverage, fucking Miranda hard enough to jostle the entire bed.

Miranda’s vision swam, and sparkling dots floated before her eyes. She was seconds away from coming — might have come even quicker, except that the stimulation was almost too much for her to process. There was just so much of everything: pleasure and pain, desire and disgust. Her body went rigid, and she began shivering, balancing right on the precipice…

Only for Clone Shepard to stop. Miranda opened her mouth, but all that came out was a broken wail of mourning. She  _ needed _ to come, and she would have shoved one of her own hands between her legs, except she couldn’t seem to release a grip on Clone Shepard’s shoulders that she didn’t even remember grabbing hold of.

“You’ve got toys here, right?” the clone asked. Her green eyes burned with an anger that seemed at once familiar, and also unsettling. “A girl like you must have a vibrator, or a dick to fuck yourself with, since you weren’t getting any from that inferior version of me.”

It took Miranda’s foggy brain a few seconds to process the question, but she was too eager to be insulted. “Middle drawer… nightstand…” she stammered, and Clone Shepard rolled off of her, yanking it open and rummaging around inside.

Seconds later, she pulled out a flesh-colored shaft. A smirk spread across her face as she turned it over in her hands. “Fancy model. That’ll make this more fun.”

She was right. Miranda had wasted far too much of her money on the toy, some foolish part of her hoping for a scenario like this one, and yet very different.

The clone seemed to have some experience with similar toys, because it only took her a moment to adjust the settings. The shaft swelled to an impressive fullness, and the clone took the short end, sliding it into herself with a gasp. “Think you can handle this, princess?” she teased, giving the length a long, languid stroke.

The clone had set the toy a bit beyond what Miranda was used to, but she wasn’t going to back down from a challenge.  _ Especially not from her _ . “I’ll be fine.”

“Glad to hear it. But you’d better get my cock nice and wet first.”

As Clone Shepard approached the bed, Miranda rolled up to its edge, the motion bringing her face to face with the cock. That was what the clone had called it, and the term seemed apt just then; even up close, Miranda couldn’t see much of a difference between it and the real thing.

“Are you going to suck me or just stare?”

“Don’t be an arse,” Miranda snapped. “Patience is a virtue.” She didn’t wait any longer, though. A bead of wetness had formed at the slit, and she was eager for more of the clone’s heavy flavor. She lashed the tip with her tongue, wrapping her hand around the shaft’s base to hold it steady. The cock was thick enough that Miranda could barely circle it with her fist, and when she took the head into her mouth, her jaw had to stretch to accommodate its girth.

Her difficulty didn’t make the clone gentle. One of Clone Shepard’s hands tangled in Miranda’s hair, and she pushed forward, sliding several inches inside all at once. Miranda had to work hard not to gag, but she managed it, using her hand to limit how fast she had to take the cock.

“Sure you can manage?”

The clone’s cruel taunt only made Miranda more determined. She began pumping the base while sucking on the head, and the effect was immediate. The clone’s complaints stopped, replaced with a pleased gasp. Her cock throbbed as well, leaking more thick arousal into Miranda’s mouth.

Once she’d gotten comfortable with the harsh pace, Miranda began taking more, allowing the shaft further into her throat. “Very nice,” the clone purred, her voice low and hungry. “Now finger yourself. That tight little cunt of yours needs to be ready for me.”

With the way the toy was making her jaw ache, Miranda wasn’t about to disagree. She slipped the hand she wasn’t using between her legs, moaning at the renewed pressure on her clit. The clone growled, thrusting forward once more, and now that Miranda was ready, the rough treatment only excited her. 

She shoved two fingers inside herself, curling in search of the perfect spot. Finding it made her moan around the clone’s cock, and Miranda thrust frantically even as she struggled to keep sucking.

“Fuck, that’s hot,” the clone panted. Her hips bucked selfishly, and fresh wetness spilled out of her, but while Miranda enjoyed the taste, it wasn’t what she was risking all of this for. If she was going to degrade herself this way, she wanted more. Without giving any warning, she drew back, letting the wet shaft slip from between her lips.

“Fuck me. Now.”

Rather than argue, Clone Shepard growled, “Hands and knees.”

Miranda obeyed, despite telling herself it wasn’t really obeying if she would have done it anyway. But she was too worked up to really care about semantics. She had barely raised her ass in the air before Clone Shepard was behind her, grasping her thighs with greedy fingers and grinding against her rear with a wet cocktip.

“Fuck me,” Miranda moaned again, and her wish was fulfilled a moment later as Shepard lined up with her entrance and shoved forward.

She wasn’t gentle. The first thrust burned, and Miranda screamed, dropping her upper body onto the mattress and burying her face in the sheets. Her face screwed up, and drool dripped from the corner of her gaping mouth as Shepard set a brutal pace, fucking in and out of her with a strength and speed that couldn’t be entirely natural.

_ Modified. Just like the real Shepard… _

The difference between them seemed less and less relevant as the clone continued pounding her into the bed, hitting white hot spots inside her, and yet it had never been starker. Some part of Miranda knew the real Shepard would never treat her like this, even if they’d agreed to be rough with each other. Clone Shepard’s treatment wasn’t just rough, it was cruel and selfish, two things the real Shepard could never be.

And yet, it aroused her. To Miranda’s immense shame, this Shepard’s utter disregard for her pleasure and comfort caused her clit to pulse and her walls to flutter, sending more wetness running between their heaving bodies. If Miranda had possessed enough of her faculties to be insightful, she might have wondered if some subconscious part of her craved punishment — for coveting another woman’s partner, perhaps, or for all the poor choices she had made before leaving Cerberus.

But she couldn’t think. She could barely breathe as the clone plundered her body, claiming everything, stripping her bare until she was little more than a raw, exposed nerve, alight with pleasure. Tears welled in her eyes, and she gritted her teeth. “Harder,” she hissed, even though Clone Shepard’s thrusts were already too much for her to bear. “Shepard,  _ harder—” _

There was an almost painful pause, lasting only a split second. Then the flat of the clone’s hand broke hard across Miranda’s ass, filling the room with the sound of flesh cracking against flesh. Clone Shepard’s palm didn’t pull back afterward. It stayed, and her nails gouged into the stinging handprint, clawing to leave an even more permanent mark. “Don’t. Fucking. Call. Me. That,” she panted, punctuating each word with a thrust.

_ Then what should I call you? _ Miranda tried to ask, but she had no voice. All she could manage was a strangled moan of mixed pleasure and pain as the clone spanked her, causing the skin of her ass to scream beneath the slap as the muscles underneath twitched. Miranda couldn’t tell if it was a futile attempt to avoid a bruise, or if her body was urging her to arch up in search of more abuse.

Either way, the clone took full advantage of the position. She seized hold of Miranda’s ass, thrusting so deep that Miranda felt as if she might come apart from the fullness. “Cat!” the clone snarled. She withdrew a couple of inches, and then her hips snapped forward, sending shockwaves through Miranda’s body. “I’m Cat! Not Shepard! Cat!”

She emphasized the name with thrusts so savage that Miranda’s knees gave out. She didn’t fall, though. Cat’s hands were like iron on her hips, refusing to let her move as she continued pounding in and out. Not that Miranda wanted to go anywhere. No one had ever fucked her like this before, and she was too deep in her own lust to be ashamed of how much she wanted it like this.

“Cat,” she pleaded, her voice little more than a series of needy gasps and moans. “Fuck me, Cat,  _ please. _ ”

* * *

The sound of Miranda saying her name, her real name, stirred something deep inside of Cat. She hadn’t realized it until that moment, but she’d been holding back, not physically, but emotionally. Her attention had been scattered, her mind focusing on things other than the gorgeous woman writhing beneath her.

Now, Cat stopped worrying and allowed herself to appreciate the moment. Her hips stilled and she slid a hand along the curve of Miranda’s back, threading it through her long, dark hair. The loss of stimulation drew a broken whimper from Miranda, and her inner muscles rippled around Cat’s shaft, trying to make her move once more.

But Cat at wouldn’t be rushed. Miranda was  _ hers _ , and Cat was going to enjoy everything that she had to offer, when and how she wanted.

She drew back again, this time withdrawing almost entirely. Only when the head was all that was left inside did she sink back in, moving with deliberate slowness. Cat wanted to feel every inch of Miranda’s pussy clinging to her, to enjoy wetness so plentiful that it was staining the sheets beneath them.

It was that slickness that thwarted Cat’s brief attempt to go slowly. It was just too good for her resist for long, and she picked up the pace once more, giving Miranda what she was begging for even as she claimed her own pleasure. The pressure inside of her built, and her muscles clenched around the shorter end of the toy as she drew ever closer to her release.

She tightened her hand in Miranda’s hair as she sped up, while the other kept firm hold of the operative’s hip. It was a necessary support. Miranda thrashed and screamed as she was filled, a wildness that made it easy to tell when she hit her peak. Without warning, her body went still beneath Cat’s, all except for her pussy, which tightened even further.

The added pressure made Cat groan. Her own resistance was nearing its end, but as good as Miranda felt around her, she decided not to stay inside. Miranda was hers, and she wanted to mark her, to claim her in every way possible.

Two more deep strokes brought Cat to the brink, and on the second, she pulled out. Miranda whimpered at the sudden loss of fullness, the delicious sound only confirming that Cat had made the right choice.

Her shaft was already leaking fluid onto Miranda’s upturned ass, and when Cat stroked its sticky length, the effect was immediate. A jolt of pure pleasure ran through the toy to her clit, and from there to the rest of her body. She shivered with the force of her climax, stroking herself furiously. Thick jets of her release flew out, covering not just Miranda’s rear but her back as well, one even reaching her hair. The sight only made Cat come harder, encouraging her to pump herself until she had nothing left.

By the time she finished, Miranda was a sticky mess. Her back expanded and contracted visibly with each breath, but although the operative trembled, she made no effort to really move. The streaks of come that painted her ass dripped down the backs of her thighs, and Cat felt a few final pulses travel through her clenched fist as she admired the visual.

_ I did that. Not Shepard. Me. _

For a moment, the room fell silent except for the sound of heavy breathing. Although Cat’s shaft had temporarily softened, she still wasn’t satisfied. The orgasm she had spilled onto Miranda’s ample rear had been one of the most intense of her life, but there was still an uneasy churning in her gut, a unsatiated desire for more. Not for another orgasm, necessarily — not right this second. The desire to dominate. To fuck Miranda into a quivering mess who couldn’t even lift her body off the sticky sheets.

“Cat,” Miranda whimpered. Her body was all pale, milky flesh and dips of shadow, but it was her voice that brought Cat’s cock back to fullness almost instantly. There was something desperate about it, something dark and twisted that Cat liked.

No, not just something she liked. Something she needed.

“I’m not finished with you,” she grunted, seizing Miranda’s hips with one hand and planting the other palm between her shoulder blades. She shoved Miranda face-first into the mattress, thrusting back inside of her a split second later. With a snarl, she was off again, thrusting hard in and out of Miranda’s still-clenching pussy.

This time, she wouldn’t pull out. She had marked Miranda’s skin, but Cat realized she wouldn’t truly be satisfied until she had spilled within Miranda’s fluttering walls as well. There was something special about flooding a woman with come, something that made her feel powerful.

_ More powerful than that weak fake ever could be. _

“Say my name again,” she rasped, running her tongue up along the back of Miranda’s neck. A few strands of the Miranda’s glossy dark hair caught against the corner of Cat’s mouth, but she didn’t care. Miranda’s skin tasted so good, and she hungered for more.

“Cat!” Miranda yelped.

A spike of desire shot up along Cat’s cock, causing her to pulse within the velvet confines of Miranda’s pussy. This was good. So, so good. Better than getting herself off. Better, even, than fucking Brooks, or any of the Cat-6 mercs. It wasn’t just fucking. It was pure and total domination.

“Louder!”

“Cat!” This time, Miranda’s voice bordered on a scream until Cat grabbed her hair and shoved her cheek down against a pillow. She humped Miranda’s ass faster, enjoying the loud schlick of her cock plunging in and out and the harsh slapping noise as her hips collided with the operative’s rear.

_ Harder. Faster. Deeper. More more more. _

“Cat, Cat, Cat…”

Although she had needed to encourage Miranda to say her name at first, now it seemed that the operative couldn’t stop. She screamed it with every thrust, and Cat felt herself hurtling rapidly toward the point of no return once more. But she didn’t want the moment to end. She was high on the power she had stolen from the other Shepard’s right-hand woman, and the more she took, the more she wanted.

Her body had other ideas. Miranda came a moment later, squealing loudly — or perhaps it was something closer to a sob. That noise was Cat’s undoing. Her mouth fell open, but her peak was utterly silent, too overwhelming to vocalize. Unbearable fullness raced up along her throbbing length, spurting from her cockhead to flood Miranda’s core and coat her shivering walls.

Cat wouldn’t have believed she had so much left to give after her last climax, but the thought of filling Miranda drew out everything. She collapsed on top of the operative, her hands gripping Miranda’s hips firmly so she could bury her length as far as possible while it pumped out one heavy spurt after another.

Miranda’s orgasm hadn’t ended either, or else she’d been pushed into another one, because her core continued rippling around Cat and a series of moans that were half pleasure, half relief came from her throat. Perhaps that was what made Cat thrust a few more times. Her own climax was tailing off, and her cock was so sensitive that the feeling was almost too much, but she did enjoy those sounds.

Those final strokes were all Cat could manage before her knees went as wobbly as Miranda’s. With a spent gasp, she released her hold on the operative, slumping down against her back. With her face pressed into Miranda’s disheveled hair, it wasn’t the most dignified position, but Cat was too spent to care.

***

Miranda lay flat on the bed, as exhausted as she could remember being after anything that didn’t involve gunfire. Half of her body was numb, and the rest was sore, albeit in a particularly pleasant way. She didn’t think she could’ve moved for anything short of a Reaper invasion, and it seemed that Cat felt the same way. The clone was plastered against her back, silent and still except for the steady rise and fall of her chest.

The pressure shouldn’t have been comforting. Nothing about Cat should have been, and yet Miranda found she enjoyed the other woman’s weight. She’d had plenty of sex with plenty of people, but no one had ever taken her so completely, fucking her until she couldn’t think of anything else, and a sudden loss of contact afterward would’ve been too much.

Unfortunately, now she had the space to think, and her mind was nowhere near as content as her body. Miranda could scarcely believe what she’d just done. She’d let Shepard’s evil clone fuck her, a woman who’d broken into her apartment and held her at gunpoint only minutes earlier…

It almost would’ve been better if she’d been forced to do it. That would’ve been horrible, but at least it would’ve been simple. Then, Miranda wouldn’t have had to admit to herself that this was what she’d wanted, what she’d craved with a hunger she could scarcely believe.

Miranda was still stewing in her own shame when Cat finally stirred. She panted out, “Fuck,” and Miranda could feel her shaking her head, her hair brushing against the bare skin of Miranda’s back.

“That good?” Miranda teased. Better to spar with Cat than to think more about what they’d just done.

Cat laughed. “I don’t hear you complaining.”

“I suppose not,” Miranda conceded before adding, “I think we both needed that.”

The only reply Cat gave was a jog of her hips. Miranda gasped, a jolt running through her oversensitized body. It was pleasurable, but also too intense. She couldn’t take any more, and neither, it seemed, could Cat. When she pulled back, it was to withdraw completely, leaving Miranda uncomfortably empty.

It took Miranda a moment to grow accustomed to the renewed hollowness within her. The sensation started in her core, where she felt Cat’s loss most keenly, but then began to coalesce in her chest as a cloud of gloom descended over her.  _ I need to do something, _ she realized as she watched Cat roll into a sitting position and remove the cock.  _ This woman tried to kill Shepard. She’s dangerous, immoral… _

And yet, Miranda remained still as Cat placed the still-wet cock on the nightstand and staggered to her feet. She couldn’t will her limbs to move. Indeed, taking any kind of action seemed beyond her abilities. She was exhausted, and confused, and part of her felt broken.

“Stop looking at me like that,” Cat said flatly.

It took Miranda several moments to form a reply. “Like what?”

Instead of answering, Cat snorted. “All broken-hearted. Maybe you regret what happened, but you’d do it again in an instant.”

The truth of those words made Miranda ache to her very bones. “No, I wouldn’t.”

“For a Cerberus operative, you’re a shitty liar.” Cat faced away and rolled her shoulders, stretching out the kinks in her back — Miranda noticed with just a little bit of salvaged pride that the clone’s hard body was covered in scratch marks. “I’ll make you a deal. I’m gonna come back and fuck you again sometime, and you’re gonna be waiting for me. You do that, and I won’t mess with Shepard and that blue bitch of hers. They can fade into obscurity while I rise and make my own mark on this galaxy.”

Miranda’s first instinct was to distrust the clone’s words. After all, there was no reason for Cat to tell her the truth. “Why?”

“Going after them again won’t get rid of her,” Cat said. “Even if I succeeded, all it would do is turn me into a footnote in Shepard’s biography. I’d be remembered as the person who murdered the galaxy’s savior, nothing more.”

It was as good an explanation as any an evil clone might give, but Miranda remained unimpressed. Still, something about Cat’s tone told her that Shepard and Liara would really be safe, although for what combination of reasons, she couldn’t be sure. “Fine.”

“Fine,” Cat grunted in return. She headed for the bedroom door, pausing just in front of it to look back over her shoulder. “Next time, I expect you to kneel when I walk in the door.” She left without another word, and Miranda listened to her footsteps walking down the hall, presumably toward where she’d left her armor.

Once Cat was gone, Miranda curled in on herself, huddling into a tiny ball. She tried to remember that she was loved — by the real Shepard, and by Liara, and by the other friends she’d made on the SR-2.  _ Shepard doesn’t love me the way I love her, but she does care. _ That thought comforted her, at least a little bit, as she put the shattered pieces of her heart back together.

Maybe she could make this work. Maybe she could get what her body craved from Cat, and get the love she needed from her friends. And maybe… maybe this had meant more to Cat than she’d let on. Her words had been cold, but there had been moments when Miranda had thought she’d glimpsed something beyond a transaction, beyond two lonely people using one another in the most crass of ways. Or maybe she was just fooling herself.

_ Either way, at least Shepard will be safe. That will have to be good enough. _

***

Outside the door of Miranda’s apartment, Cat took a deep breath. She tried to step forward, to leave the building like she’d planned, but she couldn’t move. A strange heaviness had settled in her chest, one she’d never experienced before, and she wasn’t sure what to do with it.

_ I can’t be feeling guilty, _ she decided, snorting derisively at the very thought.  _ Lawson  _ liked _ everything I did to her. And why do I give a fuck about her anyway? She’s just one of Shepard’s hero-worshippers and I made her worship me instead. _

And yet, something about the way Miranda had looked at her was almost haunting.

She wasn’t sure what any of this meant, but she was certain of one thing: she would be back here again, after giving Lawson a little time to stew over their arrangement. She would return, and some deep, secret part of her that she didn’t want to acknowledge hoped that some part of Miranda would be glad to see her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And that wraps ups this story. It was bit darker than our usual fair, but it felt like the right ending and certainly not entirely bleak. We hope you found it enjoyable, and thanks for all the feedback.


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